Rachel Bailey - Return of the Secret Heir

“You’re not suggesting I get rid of Winston?” she said, looking over at the innocent bundle of fur who’d been with her for eight years. She couldn’t imagine being without his soft, purring presence in her life.

JT squirted detergent into the sink and turned on the hot tap. “No, but to be on the safe side, I’ll clean his litter box from now on.”

She let out a sigh of relief that the solution was so simple. “He doesn’t have a litter box. He has a cat door to the courtyard at the back.” The courtyard was tiny, like the back of all the ground-floor apartments in the complex, but it had a small patch of grass and a few shrubs. That little oasis was the main reason she’d chosen to live here.

“Even better. But that means you won’t be doing any gardening. I’ll have someone do it weekly.” JT finished cleaning the juicer, then made her a celery, carrot and apple blend. “It’s best if it’s made fresh each time, but I can make more now and put it in the fridge if you’d prefer,” he said as he handed it to her.

For a moment, she wondered if he meant he’d be here to make it fresh each time, but surely not. “This will be fine for now, thanks.”

Watching him make his way expertly around her kitchen, she had to concede that under different circumstances, she’d enjoy a regular morning visit from a gorgeous man who wanted to feed her-a gorgeous man with lean hips, a tight butt and pecs she wanted to splay her hands across. She could get used to this.

A chill crept over her skin. If she wasn’t careful, she’d be in danger of letting impossible dreams of a picket-fence future unfurl in her mind.

Never mind that she hadn’t worked out how she was going to tell her boss about her pregnancy yet. Ted Howard was not going to take this well. She’d need to go to him with a plan. Another issue that had kept her awake last night.

From one of his bags, JT pulled out a small frying pan with the label still on the handle, and proceeded to wash it in the sink.

“I have a frying pan, too,” she said.

He spared her a quick glance. “You might have had the wrong size.”

Eggs came out of another bag and, sipping her juice, she watched him make an omelet. “Are you also making one for yourself?”

He opened a couple of drawers until he found her cutlery and pulled out a fork. “This isn’t about me.”

“You expect me to eat food you’ve made with you watching me?” The idea made her squirm on the stool.

“I’ll clean up and leave while you’re eating,” he said, not distracted from his task.

Despite a small part of her wanting to rebel at his treatment of her as his baby’s walking incubator-there was a fine line between cosseting and treating her as if she was incompetent-something inside her chest twisted at the thought of this man staying up during the night to research her body’s needs, then arriving early, loaded with supplies and cooking her breakfast, then leaving while she ate without tasting a bite himself. She couldn’t turn him out of her home unfed.

She walked behind him and found her own omelet pan and handed it to him. “Make one for yourself, too.”

He paused for a lingering moment, his eyes wary and assessing. It seemed neither of them wanted to play happy families. At least they were on the same page.

“Okay,” he said finally and pulled three more eggs from the carton.

Ten minutes later she was sitting across from JT with a cheese and tomato omelet, toast and a plate of fresh fruit laid out before her.

“This looks good,” she said and meant it. She usually just grabbed a yogurt and coffee.

“It might need salt,” he said, handing her the salt grinder. As she reached to take it and her fingers brushed the warm skin of his, sensation exploded in her veins like a shaken magnum of champagne. His eyes widened, locked on hers, and the world faded away, leaving only JT and her and this living electricity that was between them. Slowly, too slowly, reason shouldered its way back into her mind. She blinked away the unwanted response to the man she’d once planned to marry, and reached for her juice.

JT cut into his eggs, his voice only a little uneven. “I did some research last night on fainting during pregnancy. It could be a number of things-possibly low blood sugar or low blood pressure. I’d like us to see a doctor as soon as possible.”

“It was only once.”

“But if it happened again and you were driving or in the bath, it could be worse.”

A horrible vision rose of her slipping in the bath and falling, bringing on another miscarriage. And she wasn’t taking a single risk with this baby. “I wonder how long waiting lists are for specialists?”

“A couple of guys who work for me have had babies recently. I asked them who the best specialist was.”

“You didn’t mind interrupting their sleep?”

He smiled. “It wasn’t too late when I was thinking about a specialist. They gave me some names and the top person on each list was the same. I’ll ring first thing tomorrow and get an appointment.”

From the corner of her eye, she watched him add pepper to his eggs and take another mouthful. Threads of heat spiraled down her spine and out to her fingers and toes. Even watching this man eat sparked too much sensation in her body. The muscles working under the tan, hair-dusted skin of his forearms. The way his Adam’s apple bobbed down then up as he swallowed. Her cheeks caught fire and she determinedly cut into a tomato.

“This omelet is really good,” she said, hoping her voice was even. “You’ve learned to cook.”

“I was seventeen when you knew me.” He arched an eyebrow.

Of course he’d changed, he was a man now. A man whose gaze across the table held a deeper confidence and assurance than he’d had at seventeen. A man who’d proven only weeks ago he could make her writhe in unparalleled passion. A man who was staking a claim against his biological father’s billion-dollar will-that she was administering. Her shoulders lost a little of their poise.

“How’s your claim coming along?” she asked, to remind them both of the dangers of their involvement.

He scrubbed a hand across his smooth, shadowed chin. “Philip Hendricks is putting the final touches to the paperwork. We’ll lodge it soon.” His face became more solemn. “Are you going to tell your parents about the baby?”

During the night, she’d imagined their horror when she announced she was once again pregnant by JT Hartley. And once again, was unmarried while pregnant by JT Hartley. The last thing she needed now was more stress, and their judgmental attitudes and potential interference would definitely cause that. They’d have to know at some point, but the longer she had to get her own head around the news, the better.

“Not yet,” she said, watching her plate to avoid meeting his eyes. “Are you going to tell your mother?”

His mother had been thrilled for them last time. Worried because they were so young, but she’d offered all the help she could give. Tears sprang to the back of her eyes, remembering Theresa Hartley’s clucky excitement about her first grandchild. Another person Pia had hurt when she’d caused the miscarriage. She’d apologized to Theresa several times since, but Theresa, the sweet woman, always made her feel like it wasn’t her fault.

Eyes guarded, JT gave a sharp shake of his head. “Not yet. It’s probably best to keep this between the two of us for now.”

Not telling her parents yet was one thing. Theresa was a different story. Even though the right to pry into JT’s reasoning was something she’d forfeited years ago, something inside told her there was more to his reluctance.

She chose a slice of melon and chewed slowly, watching JT from under her lashes. Then she turned away. There was enough to worry about without getting involved in the workings of JT’s mind.